


the little things.

by alekstraordinary



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Crushes, Gift Giving, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23926933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekstraordinary/pseuds/alekstraordinary
Summary: Oswald visited once a week, usually every Saturday, and right away it had become the one thing Ed could look forward to, one ray of sunshine pushing through the black, thick fog that so often entrapped his brain in darkest of thoughts. But the conversations, little glimpses into Gotham’s life, weren’t exactly the only thing so successfully improving Ed’s state of mind, no. — the development of the relationship between Edward and Oswald shortly before and during s03e01THE SERIES HAS NOW BECOME A MULTICHAPER FIC TO KEEP ALL THE PARTS IN ONE PLACE! https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934097/chapters/57556273
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	the little things.

**Author's Note:**

> I can hardly believe I'm spitting out fics at this rate because this is the most I've written for a few months but! This is just Ed and Oz are making me feel and I've just started s3 yesterday so obviously I already had to add to the series. I will now be thinking about that paper penguin until further notice thank u.  
> (find me on Twitter @alekstraordinar)

His stay in Arkham was dragging out into eternity, each excruciating second only further stretched by an almost complete lack of any kind of mental stimulation. There were not many things for him to do in this gloomy, dispiriting place, and the things there had once been, he had already done more than once. The selection of reading material available in the excuse of a library was far from satisfactory, as it mostly consisted of children’s books or magazines, but Ed still devoured whatever he could get his hands on, going as far as memorizing some of the more bearable chapters and articles, just to occupy his mind with something. Once he had dug through everything there was, he began closely watching and observing all of the inmates he was coming in contact with, only to later analyze and meticulously categorize their behaviours and personalities. He focused on the task so thoroughly that he had become fairly certain that he knew more about those people’s lives and conditions that the doctors who were supposed to treat them would ever care to learn. Piling up these information in his head made it infinitely easier to go about his days and avoid being trapped in a situation he would not know how to resolve. But even that little project had eventually come to an end, and Ed was beginning to wither. 

As the long months passed, there had been only a few little things left that still brought a bit of variety into his life, and they were all connected to Oswald. He had regained his wits and his complex personality somewhere between visiting Ed for the last time in his apartment, covered in feathers and behaving like a broken version of himself, and the evacuation of Doctor Strange’s test subjects from the basement of Arkham. Soon after new staff had been hired and life at the facility had returned to its crooked norm, the visits had begun. Ed had been utterly confused the first time it had happened, although he couldn’t deny that upon seeing Oswald he had felt alive for the first time in a rather long stretch. His heart had jumped, his blood had fizzed, excitement and something just a few shades away from genuine happiness swelling under his skin. He had not realized just how much he had missed his feathered friend until they had seen each other again, sat down by the scratched table and held the first real conversation Ed had in endless weeks. And then, it had become the norm.

Oswald visited once a week, usually every Saturday, and right away it had become the one thing Ed could look forward to, one ray of sunshine pushing through the black, thick fog that so often entrapped his brain in darkest of thoughts. But the conversations, little glimpses into Gotham’s life, weren’t exactly the  _ only _ thing so successfully improving Ed’s state of mind, no. Come to think of it, he had to admit, that what had the truly positive effect on him was that Oswald seemed to think about him, sometimes. Oswald did not only come to visit to offer updates on the current state of politics—he also sent in boxes of Ed’s favourite brand of biscuits to snack on besides the terrible meals Arkham had to offer, and a sweater to ward off the cold of drafty, unheated cells, and proper books to actually bring some pleasure from reading. Sometimes, he would even bring a puzzle, knowing how fond of them Ed was, and how much he must had missed them. And he had been doing all of this… why? 

The question had never really occurred to Ed, as he was too occupied with enjoying the little luxuries and the impression that there was someone out there, someone who genuinely had his well-being in mind, someone who cared about him. He had only pondered this as he looked at the solved puzzle on the table before him, and even after receiving a seemingly truthful answer, he was still not satisfied. So, when he saw Oswald take the little paper penguin into his hands, with so much gentleness and honest glee, Ed decided to prod again: “Mr Penguin, I—” he started, but he was quickly corrected.

“Oswald.”

He nodded. “Oswald,” he repeated, and the name tasted strangely on his tongue. It was familiar and unknown at the same time, sweet and bitter, soothing and stinging; a mixture of contradictions the man sitting in front of him was the embodiment of. “I don’t want you to think like you’re in debt because I took care of you, once. You don’t have to… come in here, and send me gifts, just because you feel like you owe me. You don’t. I helped you because I wanted to, I told you that. You don’t—”

“I’m not doing this because I feel that I owe you, Ed,” Oswald interrupted him once again, his words making Ed feel as though there was a small, frail thing awakening in his chest, trembling and quivering at the sound of his name. He had been only called “an inmate”, “a patient” and “Nygma” for so long he had almost forgotten what his name sounded like in someone else’s mouth. Especially in  _ this _ mouth, quirking in the corners, dimples sprouting around it. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I want to return the favour, but I don’t see it as a debt. I come to see you because I enjoy our conversations. It feels good to talk to someone who doesn’t look down on you.” He pressed his lips tightly, jaw clenching with a quiet crack. “Besides, I feel you might just be my only  _ true _ friend.” 

Ed sincerely hoped that Oswald could not see him buzz on the outside, for he certainly felt like there was a tingling, nearly burning vibration spreading through the inside of his body, through his flesh, his blood, his nerves and bones. He had to press his hands down against the surface of the table until his fingers turned white from the pressure to ground himself in place because there, suddenly, he was experiencing pure  _ joy _ . Something about hearing these words made him experience all the positive emotions he had been denied for the past half a year all at once, almost like there was a small sun being born right underneath his skin, reminding him that he was still alive. In that moment, he had to confess in front of himself that it was not solely steaming from the fact that Oswald seemed to care for him, but rather because the feeling was very much mutual, and what Ed had felt for Oswald went beyond simple admiration and idolization. But… he did not want to think about this too much. Not then, not there, not when he was far too compromised to handle disappointment at the conclusion he might possibly draw from dwelling too deeply on this issue. 

Perhaps it was the deprivation from proper stimuli for an extended period of time that dulled his judgement, or fearing what he might find at the bottom of the feelings both of the parties might be holding, but had he paid closer attention, he would find something quite curious. He would see the unusual sparks of warmth in Oswald’s eyes whenever he looked at Ed, or the incredible softness and easiness in which he smiled, or the way he seemed to be just a little too tensed up to call it comfortable, or the way he held the paper penguin gently in his hands, stroking a thumb over it ever so slightly. Even if he were in any better shape, still there would be no way for him to know just how often Oswald had been thinking about him lately. There was no basis on which he could deduct that Oswald had visited Ed’s apartment to seek for things he could possibly send to Arkham as a gift, or how long it had taken him to pick a sweater that would be just in Ed’s taste, or how many books he personally researched to choose the right one. That Oswald had been relying on Ed just as much as he was relying on Oswald. Or that, in a way, somewhere deep down, they both knew that they only had each other.


End file.
